Letters from Camp

Here are some choice excerpts:

"Dear Kazz and Anthony. [Ed note: our children usually call us "Mom and Dad", not by our first names.] I had to right a letter to you! THEY MADE ME!!!!"

Pippa then proceeds to write about her time at camp and closes with:

"I do not miss you, but just pretend I do."

Fabulous.

Her next letter reiterates that point, verbatim, but closes with this:

"...but I do still love you very much!"

Well, thank goodness for small mercies.

Gigi's letter is not much better, frankly:

"Dear Mom and Dad, We are being forced to write to you, even though I don't have a stamp..."

You're imagining our children in an American summer camp: rustic cabins and lake-swimming. Think again. That may exist in France, but it's not where our girls are. They're at a 1000 year old medieval castle, riding ponies bareback (literally). To find out more, check out A Year in Fromage.

Carbo Loading

It's that magical time, the breadiest time of the year. For those of us that live by Notre Dame, at least. This year, not only does Pippa go as a field trip (and this means me too, as a chaperone), but the girls also get to make some bread once when we stop in to buy a baguette. Gigi gets private lessons from one of the most celebrated bread bakers in France (and, therefore, in the world, the man on her right). No, I don't know his name.

Here are a few photos from our latest visit, too late to make the story at A Year in Fromage.

 

 

 

Left to their own devices, this is what they choose to make. Gigi wants to make (and eat, entirely by herself) a classic baguette. It is so hot from the oven here that she can barely hold it, though you'll notice she somehow managed to eat one crouton (end of the bread) already. And Pippa makes the braided ring she's been dreaming of. She wasn't allowed to on the field trip, since they had to fit almost 30 loaves on a baking sheet. The ring turns out perfectly, and we dub it a baguegel (pronounced "ba-GAY-gul", a.k.a. a bagel made of baguette dough). I think it's beautiful and, with a little refinement, it could become a hot new trend.

  

There's a dairy booth open today that has this poster. You know what I'm thinking...Three Years in Fromage? A Life in Fromage?

 

Four Bulletins & A Snafu

Bulletin #1 -- a language one:

I know we've been living in France for a while now because the girls are speaking strange franglais.  Their latest: Pippa talks about all the science experiences she's doing in school. At which point Gigi yells, "experiments! Experiments!" At which point I point out that Gigi recently says that if she doesn't get a good grade for something she'd worked really hard on, it will be "a big deception." At which point I correct "disappointment! Disappointment!"

Also, Gigi talks about the book Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Uzbekistan. Perhaps she's not hearing quite enough English.

Bulletin #2 --  a gym one:

I realize it looks like I'm being one of those bragging parents who keeps pointing out my children's accomplishments, but I swear it's because I myself am amazed. They're doing stuff in gymnastics that I was never able to do, and learning and progressing so quickly it's crazy. So just know that this honestly is not coming from a place of vanity. It's coming from a place of pure jealousy, frankly. I so wish I could have done this when I was their age! And I harbor no illusions about them being Olympians or even serious competitors in the States. The level here is lower, and mostly recreational, and they're not fanatical about pointing toes and straightening legs. But still, I'm impressed.

Bulletin #3 -- a yummy one:

Near the Bourse, on and around rue Saint-Anne, I have finally found the Japantown part of Paris. I feel like the food here is better and more authentic-tasting, relatively speaking, than Parisian Chinese food. Having lived in both Japan (for many years) and Taiwan, I feel like I can say this with some authority. It fills a craving in a huge way for ramen and gyoza, and it's delicious, but it's still not as good as actually eating Japanese food in Tokyo. Naturally.

 

 

Bulletin #4 -- a bureaucratic one:

It turns out my latest carte de séjour had the wrong expiration date on it -- months earlier than it should be. Luckily, I look at my card a week or so before that date, and I manage to get my paperwork in just in the nick of time. Of course, that means I don't have a valid card for several months until the bureaucratic wheels (powered by Flintstone woodpeckers) have approved my legal status and manufactured and delivered my new card. That's OK: I don't carry it with me, ever since the multiple pickpocketing incidents, and I've never been asked to provide it, anyway.

And the snafu -- or is it?:

We still don't know where we'll be next school year, but we do know the girls will not be back at their school in San Francisco: The school didn't have any vacancies for them! By staying away more than two years, we lost our automatic, guaranteed spots, and the school had record-low attrition. With no available spots to give, we can't be insulted at all, got a really nice personalized note, and still love the school. We are not devastated. Those of you who know me know that a) I have been gunning to stay longer in Paris anyway and b) I generally find that life works out wonderfully -- and often in the most unusual ways. In fact, the more unusual, the better, in my mind. In case you're wondering, they do still have their spots guaranteed here at their Paris schools (which they love), and the girls are both excited about the idea of staying longer, too. So we're gearing up for the very real possibility (though as Anthony will tell you -- not the inevitability) that we might stay yet another year....Stay tuned.

 

Boom As We Speak

When I was in grade school, we went on field trips to the local historical reenactment village, one day each year. Once, we went to a pizza place owned by a classmate's father and were allowed to make our own pizzas. That is the extent of the field trips I remember. Gigi, meanwhile, is away for a week with her classmates in Valloire, France for the ultimate field trip -- a week of skiing in the Alps. As I write this, she's at her end-of-week "Boom" (that's a co-ed dance to you and me).

 

 

 

 above photos taken by chaperones on the ski trip

To continue reading, click here...

Work of Art

Gigi has a most unusual extracurricular activity this fall. And I mean most unusual. She has been cast as Ann Lee, a Japanese manga character come to life, for a piece of performance art in a major exhibit at the Palais de Tokyo, the world-class contemporary art museum of Paris. She and seven others were chosen  from 160 girls at the audition, by the artist himself, Tino Sehgal, who calls the kind of interactive performance art he creates "constructed situations."

 

 

photo from http://www.phaidon.com/agenda/art/articles/2013/may/08/tino-sehgal-reanimates-manga-character-at-frieze/

 

Gigi is the youngest among the girls, and she performs the solo piece he created in either English or French, depending on her audience, three times a week, for two-three hours at a time...

 

To read more, and to see photos of Pippa's high-end modeling job, and to check out the cheese I've selected to accompany this story, click here.

Chocolate Chip Champion

My friend Mei and I like to champion here in Paris (and abroad) that ugliest but perhaps most delicious of desserts: the American cookie.

The first year of gymnastics regionals, Gigi's team got 13th out of 13. The second year, when she came home with a 9th place, Anthony congratulated her enthusiastically...until she told him there had only been 9 teams. Well, much like this, I fancy myself quite a delicious cookie maker, but then I only have a couple really good non-French friends here, and the only other American's cookies I've tried are Mei's. And, objectively speaking, hers are better than mine. So there may only be two contestants, but I'm the Silver Medal Champion Cookie Maker of My Paris!

And my cookies do whoop the pants off any chocolate chip cookies I've tried that were made by any French person. I have to admit that the cookies I make here also whoop the pants off the cookies I make in San Francisco, and I've figured out the secret: I use all-American ingredients except the butter. French butter has less water in it, and is generally richer and more unctuous, and the cookies are all the better for it.

If you're wondering why there are so many cookies on my counters, and why some of them are upside down, there's a logical explanation for both. Gigi likes me to make her cookies for her class for her birthday. She's in a class of 29 kids, plus a teacher, and I feel like everybody should have at least a couple cookies. So you do the math: that makes a whole lot of cookies, which I must mix by hand -- no KitchenAid stand mixer. It's better than a gym workout for the upper arms, except that I eat more calories worth of raw dough than I burn.

And why upside down? Along with no stand mixer, I also don't have a cooling rack, and I've discovered that putting them bumpy side down allows them to cool without getting soggy, as the steam can find nooks and crannies through which to escape.

Sure, I could buy chocolate chip cookies. There is a cute little shop on our island called "Anne's" which sells single, regular-sized (say, 3" diameter) cookies for 2.7€ -- or about $3.50 -- each. Meanwhile, I can go to Thanksgiving (the store in the nearby Marais neighborhood, not the holiday) and find critically important ingredients for not too much money, including real light brown sugar for under 4€ and baking soda for just a couple more. Still infinitely cheaper than buying at Anne's, where we would need to take out a second mortgage in order to buy a couple dozen cookies.

 

The expensive ingredients are the real liquid vanilla and the chocolate chips, and I have cabinets full of both, thanks to a steady stream of visitors. However, I refuse to make chocolate chip cookies for any of my visitors from the States. I only make them for other ex-pats who need a taste of home and for French-people who, I must tell you, are completely won over by this ugly-but-delicious American dessert.

First Rule of Book Club

Gigi and I have put together a book club with the girls from the Native English section in her grade. Of the thirteen girls, six come to the first organizational meeting. These are all theoretically native English speakers (though in truth, most are bilingual children who've grown up in France, and probably only Gigi would claim English as her first and strongest language), so it never occurs to me to put much of an explanation about what a book club is. Just another example of how very American I am.

Nearly everybody shows up with some books they like, that they could recommend and swap with each other, but I don't think any of them understood that a book club is a place where you discuss a book that you have all pre-read. What amuses/amazes me even more is that the parents themselves didn't understand the concept of a book club. Despite coming in blind, the first one was a raging success, and there are at least two new girls joining in for the first actual book discussion in about a month's time. It may have helped that one of the girls brought homemade cupcakes. The girls have picked from among their own favorites for their first few books:

  

 

My own San Francisco book club ladies and American friends and family (nearly all of whom have been in book clubs) will share in my amazement over the concept of not knowing what a book club is. There are many things that I am vaguely embarrassed to export to the rest of the world -- McDonald's, violent films, and Miley Cyrus spring to mind -- but I must say that if Gigi and I can introduce a bunch of her new friends and their families to the idea of book club, I'd be mighty proud.

You know a Paris Mom's book club (fewer cupcakes, more wine) can't be far behind....

 

Labor Day

Labor Day has a lot of significance around here: not as a national holiday, but rather as the trigger for la rentrée -- Back to School. In our house, it means even more than that, since it's the anniversary for, well, being in labor. At all three of the schools Gigi has attended, her birthday has actually fallen on the first day of school. Luckily, this is a child who likes school. In fact, this year, after her first day of middle school, she runs out to me and declares enthusiastically, "Today is the best day of my life!"

Well, it marks exactly ten years since one of the best days of my life, which is the day we went to the hospital to have the son we were expecting and came out instead with a bald, chubby, big-eyed girl. A decade later, she has grown into this lovely little lady seen below in the hall of her new school on orientation morning ("Take the picture quick! This is so embarrassing!") and then on her way to her first full day of school on her birthday. Conveniently, the first full day is spent on a class-bonding field trip. She tells me she prefers school to being on vacation. Happy birthday, indeed!

 

Pippa returns to her elementary school, on the world's greatest walk-to-school. Since she is in an entirely new class this year, however, she sits shyly to the side before the starting bell rings. But she comes out as enthusiastic as her sister, with a full list of all her new best friends. So, I guess I don't need to worry about her at school, either.

 

Gigi's choice for this year's birthday dinner, which we celebrate the weekend before, is at Happy Nouilles (Noodles), a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant in the 3rd arrondissement, near metro Arts & Metiers. We discovered it when we randomly walked by it months ago, and the girls were attracted to the guy actually hand-pulling noodles in the window. Though we had had only mediocre-at-best Chinese food in Paris up till that point and were pessimistic, we gave it a try. The place is filled -- staff and diners -- with Mandarin Chinese speakers, and it surpassed all expectations. The dumplings even rival (Sacrilege Alert!) San Francisco's.

 

 

 

On the way to birthday noodles, we discover a tiny storefront called Stanz that sells excellent bagels (described accurately by the owner as being chewier than a Montreal bagel, and less chewy than a New York bagel) and one called Berko that sells, frankly, the best cupcakes I've ever tasted. It could just be because I haven't had cupcakes in years. Or it could be because they're delicious. Naturally, on the actual day of her birthday, I buy us Berko cupcakes to celebrate.

 

 

If you're wondering why, for her 10th birthday, there are nine cupcakes on the plate, a number which divides unevenly among the four of us, it's because that's the biggest box they sell, at about 23€. Possibly because it would bankrupt somebody to buy a whole dozen. One of her birthday presents is everything needed to make mini-cupcakes, including a Berko cookbook. Which means we get to enjoy birthday cupcakes, round two, a few days later.

 

 

 

Back to School also means I can finally get Back to Work. It's the first time in two months I haven't spent basically all day, every day, with the girls. I'm not complaining, mind you, but being with them does make it hard to get any work done. So having them back in school is something of a respite, and it means I can start writing again more regularly.

 

 

I Spy

What with all this talk of Edward Snowden, the fact that he holds no passport, and the fact that U.S. just may have, um, spied on its French ally, it seems like the perfect moment to discuss those little traits that are dead give-aways about what passport you hold, and whether or not you would hold up as a CIA spy in Paris:

How do you eat French fries and hamburgers? With your hands? You're American. The French do it with a fork and knife. Yes -- even the fries, which are, as I've discussed, not necessarily French. Also, as a French person, you would never ask for ketchup. So, if passing as a French person is your espionage duty to protect national security, part of your sacrifice is going to be eating dry fries.

Butter your bread? American. Eat it plain? French.

Gigi speaks perfect French, even according to the French themselves. But more than once I've seen her speaking fluently and then, when she needs to think of something, she says, "Ummmm." Dead give-away. A French person would say "Euhhhh."

Have a question? Raise your hand. Now, tell me: Did you raise your hand with all your fingers extended? Congratulations, you're a real American. Or did you raise your hand with your index finger extended, pointing to the sky? Felicitations, vous êtes un vrai français (in other words, you're French).

And, as I've mentioned before, even if you were living in a Tom Clancy Cold War era novel where you were trained for years to be a mole in France, you would get tripped up when somebody asked you to recite a Jean de la Fontaine poem. Only those raised on "Le Corbeau et Le Renard" can do it full sing-song justice.
 

Lady Liberté

July 4 is just another day here, but by complete coincidence, Gigi and a bunch of her classmates have an after-school get together in the park to celebrate their own impending liberation: their last day of school on July 5 before summer vacation and heading off to middle school. It evolves into them choreographing a gymnastics routine, then getting the idea to pass the hat, and then inspiration: Gigi proposes donating the money to organizations that free children from slavery. Amazingly, in just an hour and a half, they earn 50€, which we donate to Free The Slaves. Only after the fact do we realize how perfect this is: Children working with joy to help liberate children who work in misery -- and all on a day that (for some of us, at least) represents freedom.

 

 

So, with July 4 just past and July 14 (Bastille Day) approaching, and since the French and American revolutions were heavily linked in many respects, let's take a moment to look at some of the many, many references to Lady Liberty floating around Paris:

In the Jardin de Luxembourg, you might jog by her in this beautiful setting.

 

 

Translation of the plaque: "Liberty Lighting the World, Auguste Bartholdi (1834-1904)

On the occasion of the World Expo of 1900, sculptor Auguste Bartholdi offered to the Luxembourg Museum the bronze model he used to create the Statue of Liberty in New York. This statue was placed in the Luxembourg Gardens in 1906." This is, in fact, the original statue upon which all subsequent, larger versions are modeled.

 

At the Musée des Arts et Metiers, the backdrop is drastically different, and the information only slightly different: Here, the artist is more fully identified as Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi, and credit is also attributed to Gustave Eiffel, the famous engineer known for working with behemoth metal structures. At this museum, which is dedicated to inventions and progress, Lady Liberty stands both outside and inside, with an original 1/16th model. The outside lady is made of bronze, and is created from the original plaster, which is housed inside against a beautiful stained-glass window.

 

 

At the Eiffel Tower, engineer Gustave Eiffel's role in the copper statue is, naturally, the highlight. A panel explains: "The framework of the Statue of Liberty, a gift from the people of France to the United States, was one of the outstanding works of the 1880s. Its metal framework was designed like a bridge pylon."

 

If you're wondering why the buildings behind the great Lady with scaffolding look so very French, it's because this is a photo of her being assembled in Paris in 1884, before she was disassembled and shipped to the United States for re-assembly. (One of the few instances where even in English, I would say "she" instead of "it." Thankfully, the word "statue" is feminine in French, because referring to the Statue of Liberty as "he" would simply fry my brain.)

 

But the most impressive and visible of the great Ladies is the one presiding over the middle of the Seine, from the Ile aux Cygnes at the Pont de Grenelle.

 

 

There are two dates inscribed on the tablet Lady Liberty holds in the middle of the Seine: July 4, 1776, the date of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and Aug 26, 1789, the date of the signing of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen), which is to the French revolution pretty much what the Declaration of Independence is to the American one. Both dates are written in Roman numerals (July IV, MDCCLXXVI and Aug XXVI, MDCCLXXXIX). In New York, only the July 4 date is inscribed.

 

 

Originally, she was facing east into the city for the World Expo of 1889, then turned to face the mouth of the Seine (northwest) for the 1937 World Expo. But at the time of a renovation of the island and bridge in 1968, she was turned outward, so that she now looks west (and more specifically southwest) towards New York, while the Statue of Liberty in New York's harbor looks east toward Europe. Theoretically, their gazes should meet somewhere over the middle of the Atlantic, or, if you think about it, perhaps their gazes simply continue east, east, east or west, west, west, till they circle the globe entirely. Wouldn't it be nice if all people caught between and beyond their gazes were indeed living in liberty?

 

  

                                 New York                                                 Paris